Near Yesterday, De Barr Street

I said I'm getting tired of seeing them
inside each other's joy, their glancing smiles,
their hands held gladly, footsteps matched, alert
for rhythm in the evening silence. Once,
I lived above the cliff, the sea on fire.
Because my home stood open, night would come
continuous with birth. I loved the air,
the gravel, light, and wind, suspended there
like music I might leap into, if I
were willing death to go ahead and try
to take me, I was so alive. I hear
the song again, the tide so treacherous
to stand there, wander up alone, tempts fate.
I used to be alive. I burned, but not
consumed, I waited, watched, and sang, and now
I witness everything I wanted, free
as sunset, gloriously come and gone.
I can't not want to hold it in my breath.

This is the slightly edited version. I think it seems like I am actually at the ocean, not metaphorically recalling what the atmosphere of marriage felt like. I need to get this somehow to a printed version and hack at it. Any responses are welcome!
Rae